


One Two Three Heartbeats

by SongAboutExiles



Series: One, Two, Three Heartbeats [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint and Natasha Are Scary and Sad, F/M, M/M, Science Boyfriends, Tony Has to Fix Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:40:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongAboutExiles/pseuds/SongAboutExiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony has to fix everything, including Bruce. Post Iron Man 3, mild spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One, Two, Three Heartbeats

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Post Iron Man 3, so spoilers (though mild).  
> 2\. This is my return fic after a lonnnnnnnnnnnnng hiatus and an online name change. I'm sure everyone and her sister is writing fic based on this particular scene, but damned if it wasn't the best two minutes of a very good movie.

“You really think you don’t have the temperament to be a therapist?” At least the exercise had been cathartic for him, and restful for Bruce. Apparently. Tony stretched and his tee shirt rode up, and smart boy that he was, he didn’t miss the brief flicker in Bruce’s eyes toward the bare skin. _Jesus, how tightly does he have to be wound?_

“Anger is not really the answer to most people’s problems. If I had been listening this whole time, what would I have told you? Hit them harder? Show no mercy?” His lips quirked. “Smash?”

“There was...a lot of smashing.” Sneakered feet swung round as Tony sat up abruptly, resting his elbows on his knees and regarding the other man closely. “You know, there’s one thing I’ve always been curious about with you.”

“Only the one?” Bruce ran a hand through his greying hair and slumped back into the sofa cushions, a mess of rumples and disorder that belied the brilliant, regimented brain inside.

“Well, mostly this one thing. In a month, I worked with doctors and bioengineers and even plastic surgeons to fix this big hole in my chest. You’re as smart as I am. Why haven’t you designed a way to control the Big Guy?” Subtlety--not Tony’s strong suit, but it got the desired reaction.

Bruce’s eyes flashed and he sat up again like he was about to start the mother of all diatribes, but then the fire flickered out and he slumped back into the relative safety of the welcoming sofa. “Don’t you think I’ve tried to get rid of him? You’ve read the files. I’ve tried everything, up to and including suicide.”

“Ugh, I am officially declaring the ‘s’ word off the table. Unacceptable.” A world without Bruce Banner was not one that Tony found himself wanting to live in. He’d already lost so much, the idea of losing his friend was unthinkable. “And you’re not listening. I didn’t say ‘get rid of’, I said ‘control’. It’s not like we don’t know where the rage centers of the brain are.”

“The medial amygdaloid, filtering down through the stria terminalis into the medial hypothalamus and then into specific areas of the grey matter. Yeah, we know. I know.” Better than most.

“So why can’t we figure out a shunting mechanism? Devise some way to turn off the anger until you need it. C’mere.” Tony reached out and grabbed a wrinkled sleeve and hauled Bruce up, into the middle of the lab and up onto a small, square half meter platform. “JARVIS, initiate brain scan and put it on the heads-up.”

Bruce bore it with a resigned patience, crossing his arms and just waiting. Even after all the time he’d spent in the Stark Industries R&D labs, he was still shocked when the computer announced the scan completed seconds later, creating a detailed picture of his brain that changed as his thoughts changed.

“Little bit of tech I stole from Killian. The guy in the elevator, from just before you nodded off. Now...left amygdala bad emotions, right amygdala good emotions, yes?” Tony manipulated the image to bring the small structures into gigantic proportions. “Your right amygdala is really small compared to your left. Geeze, no wonder you’re no fun.”

“I think you just like to say ‘amygdala’.”

“I think you just like to be miserable.”

“I think you’re a jackass.”

“Fair point.” Tony saved the image over Bruce’s objections and stepped back from behind the control console. “Did it ever occur to you that I might just want you to be LESS miserable, because you’re my friend and I don’t have many of those?”

“No. Actually, it didn’t.” Bruce signed and canted a hip back against the workbench behind him. “Tony, come on. You like saying the word so much, but if you blocked off signals from my amygdala, you know that it would make me, well, kind of a zombie. No anger, but no pleasure or happiness either.”

“Tell me you have either of those things now.”

“A big green guy can hope, can’t he?” Although both of the men in the room knew quite well that it’d been a long time indeed since Bruce hoped for anything other than not to hurt anyone when he died.

“I don’t want you a zombie.” Tony stepped up to Bruce and took a turn with the arm-crossing and serious up-and-down regard. “Can you even HAVE sex? Jerk off? Laugh so hard you cry? Cry so hard you puke?” All the STUFF that made humanity messy and awful and glorious.

“No, no, no, and I can’t say I miss number 4.” But he apparently could still blush. “Tony, stop...looking at me.”

“Or what? You’ll make mom turn the car around? Is my space getting on your space?” It must be so messy, all this emotion. A clever hand snaked out and under the entirely weather-inappropriate linen of Bruce’s jacket, rounded the other man’s waist, and tugged him abruptly forward into a kiss.

With Tony, there was no ‘sweet’. Just a hot, sudden flash of pure, base need. More of a walking Id than the Big Guy, just not quite as destructive. Bruce obviously had no idea what the hell to do for one, two, three long heartbeats and then he leaned into it, opened up to it, and got swallowed whole by the insistent, infuriating hunger.

Tony wasn’t really expecting this surrender, more like a shove and a slap up the side of his head for being an asshole, but before those three heartbeats were even finished he realized he’d been wanting to crawl into this man face first since the day they’d met. Bruce ran hot, his skin warm and getting warmer, and those guttural little moans and growls were practically incendiary. One of the man’s big hands gripped the back of Tony’s head, the other went right for his ass, lifting him up and pulling him even closer.

_Wound tight and going off like a fucking ICBM._ Tony groaned right back, rational thought short circuited by the need to see and feel and taste and his hand slid around, palming Bruce’s hard cock through the thin fabric of his trousers, rubbing with the heel of his hand...

...And found himself abruptly on his ass on the floor, Bruce’s back turned to him as he panted and strove for control over the runaway emotions, the flood of neurochemicals frizzling along the edges of his vision. He focused on consequences, on what he’d do to this infuriating, incredible man if the Big Guy got out.

Tony watched him for long moments, more heartbeats, before getting to his feet. “Let me help you fix this.”

“Were you just poking at him again?” Bruce’s voice was wounded, ragged.

“What? No.” Okay, yes, but. “No...I wanted to do that. I want...I want more. With you.” Because Bruce was so goddamned extraordinary, in a world seemingly chock full of the strange and special, he was even more.

“Are you telling me that you want to spend god knows how much money and invest god knows how much time fixing me so you can get laid?” Bruce turned back around, still breathing heavily but more regularly, arms crossed protectively in front of himself.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m betting you have a pretty good idea where to start.”


	2. An Actual Superhero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just have to let it hurt. Ride it out.

“Could you just...scooch over an inch to your, no sorry, my left?” Tony was head down in the displays, not even sparing a glance to the man in the chair in the middle of the clean field.

“Tony, I’m in a chair.” Bruce’s tone exhibited the somewhat exhausted patience of a man who knows he’s being swept along on a tide and has decided not to fight it.

“Scooch the chair then, or the good doctor will be aiming for something...well, something you may need later.” The good doctor in question, a world-renowned British neurosurgeon and neurologist of middle age and Ghanaian descent, simply sighed along with her patient. It had been a rather long week.

“Tony, the chair is bolted to the floor.” Bruce was frankly amazed at how many ideas Tony had, even that first night, and at the immense talent he could lay his hands on at a moment’s notice. The basics, though...those could use some work.

Tony finally looked up, and tsked at them both. Tsked! “You could have just said that. JARVIS, have the dum dums move the chair an inch to my left.”

“Sir, I do believe your initial statement was correct. An inch to Dr. Banner and Dr. Arunda’s left would be far more beneficial.” That little bit of snark just kept growing, didn’t it? Where was JARVIS learning such bad habits anyway?

“Okay, fine. The other way then. One inch.” Tony threw his hands up, but spent the minute it took the robots to reposition the surgical chair looking at the man in it. There wasn’t a lot there to reassure him. Bruce was tired, but they all were. Neither of them put much of a premium on that whole ‘early to bed’ nonsense. But there was something else, a quiet lassitude as he was moved this way and that, that belied something darker.

Bruce just didn’t care what happened to him. Perhaps on some level, he even hoped Tony would manage to kill him. _As if I would ever harm a hair on that messy head._ Bruce was just going to have to accept the fact that Tony was going to succeed.

He hadn’t succeeded in fixing Pepper, who, as it turned out, really liked having super powers. Wherever she’d gone, whatever she was doing now, she’d made it quite clear that Tony was not welcome along for the ride. _Always was the smart one._ But the problem now, unfortunately, was that Tony had had a taste of reality, of fidelity, of all those boring things he’d always found nothing but quaint, even trite and hypocritical. The man passively strapped into that chair was the only other person in the world he wanted that kind of life with. So he’d damned well better be ready.

“The chair is now correctly positioned for the procedure, Sir,” JARVIS announced, making Tony’s lips quirk. _Officious little prick._ “All right, Doctor Arunda, this is your show now.”

She smiled at Bruce reassuringly. “You understand what we’re about to do?” It was a final check--they’d been over the process in detail and Bruce had developed at least a third of it.

“You’re about to insert nano-scanners into my skull to monitor the rage pathways of my brain throughout a week-long period to build up a database of their fluctuations during daily activity.” Bruce smiled back at her tiredly. “Inject away, Doctor.” What did he have to lose?

Tony bit his lower lip hard as the doctor activated a grid map that settled over Bruce’s head like a net of light--purposefully programmed in a nice shade of blue rather than radioactive gamma green--hugging his skull. A myriad of points lit up on the grid, indicating where the nano-scanners would need to be placed. It was going to hurt, no two ways about it, but Bruce had been adamant about avoiding general anesthesia.

At least the probes went in quickly--the syringe biting efficiently through scalp with a sharp electric zing and depositing a microscopic scanner against Bruce’s skull. They were inactive, gripped to the bone, and once they were all carefully placed, the doctor nodded to Tony, who was increasingly agitated at the subliminal tightening he saw around Bruce’s eyes at the pain.

“All right, here we go.” Tony settled long enough to enter the code that activated the nano scanners. _Why didn’t I build the clean field around the console?_ Being outside was torture, because those microscopic little fuckers were doing a hell of a job burrowing their microscopic way into Bruce’s skull, into his brain. Doctor Arunda had to be the one to lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder, to murmur gently to him that it would be done soon. He should have been in there. How Bruce could go through that and not transform, Tony could not imagine.

It was a matter of five minutes before the screen lit up and the data feeds started. A long, long, long-as-fuck five minutes. The good doctor made some agonizingly lengthy final checks before nodding that it was all right to take down the clean field. “He’s all yours, Mr. Stark. I’ll be upstairs. Please inform me if anything changes?” When her very sensible heels clicked away to silence, Tony knelt down in front of Bruce, gently removing the restraints and taking one long-fingered hand after another in between his to chafe at the slight red marks.

“Jesus, Bruce...” he murmured, finally looking the man in the eyes. “I did not like seeing you in pain.”

Bruce snorted. “Life is pain, right?”

“And anyone who says differently is trying to sell you something?” Tony turned Bruce’s hand over palm up and kissed his wrist softly, just at the pulse point.

That provoked a smile at last and even a breathy laugh. Tony always felt like an actual superhero when he could make Bruce laugh. “How about you get out of this chair and we go to bed? You must have god’s own headache. Which, hey, look...the doctor left you something.” A syringe of some kind of high-powered narcotic.

“I can’t take that,” Bruce replied. “No inhibitions equals big green mess, remember?”

“I...I am not sure I actually believe you.” Tony tilted his head. “I think you haven’t tried.”

“Not experimenting with you,” Bruce’s voice got lower, a little more growly, and really he should know that’s just going to provoke Tony more. More, like a lunge in for a kiss, hot and quick and dirty for all the week’s long repression.

Tony’s spine went liquid, and he shuddered, shoving himself up against the other man and pulling him in, pawing him in, really, because his mind was not working quite right at the moment. “I don’t care.” He’d take his chances with the Big Guy if he had to.

“Ah, but I do. I do, very much.” The whisper came against his damp lips and Tony wanted to bite at them. “Come on.” A strong hand clamped around his wrist and pulled him up the stairs, across the house to Tony’s bedroom. This house was not the exposed, fragile loveliness of the old one, but rather a protected, if very gussied up, bunker. Tony’s bedroom had a view of the ocean, it was buried so damn deep. “I’ve been thinking.”

“You can think? Right now?” _Because good for you if you can._

“I’ve thought about what happens with us, next. What comes next.” Because of course Tony would be jumping on him again, and Bruce would be a liar if he said he wasn’t looking forward to it. “But you’re not going to like it.”

“Okay...just...what?”

“There’s nothing to stop me from...” Bruce blushed to his hairline. “Touching you.” Okay, it was easier to just say it. “But you can’t...you just can’t...”

“Reciprocate? You mean you want me to lie there and let you do everything?” No, that wasn’t Tony’s style at all. Maybe once upon a time...no. Nope. He’d always been a good if very temporary lover. He was proud of that, of course.

“Yeah.” No other way to put it. “You’re tempted.” Bruce gathered up a good deal of courage and reached over to pull Tony in close, one hand sliding up the man’s thigh and over the half-hard flesh between. “Very tempted?”

“Fuck, Bruce, I can’t make decisions when you’re doing that.” Because it would be so wrong. What he felt for Bruce was not some kind of one off thing. “No...no, if it can’t go both ways, it doesn’t go at all.” Jesus, that was fucking hard to say considering Bruce’s fingers had already found their treacherous way into the zipper of his jeans.

“I think that’s foolish.” Bruce took in a sharp breath, almost wondering, when his fingers slid over a patch of bare, hard flesh, satin-skinned. “And what about what I want?”

It didn’t matter that Tony’s cock was trapped down one leg of his jeans and aching from one fumbling touch. Okay, it mattered, but he wasn’t going to let it make his decision for him. He was grown up now, right? Right. So he swallowed hard and gripped Bruce’s hand, gently withdrawing it. “What you want is just more of your self-punishing bullshit.”

Bruce stepped back as if slapped. “Tony, I just...wanted to do something, one fucking thing, like an actual man.” Giving pleasure to a lover, feeling this infuriating man come undone for him would be...intoxicating. “You just refuse to even consider it, don’t you? That this might not work? That this could be our reality, and it’s irreparably broken?”

“It will work.” Tony’s words clipped out stiffly because he was angry, with himself mostly, but yeah, a little bit with Bruce, too.

“And. If. Not?”

“I don’t know, okay?” How could Tony know what it would take to make this work? “I just know that I am fucking crazy about you. For you. In your, uh, general vicinity. Jesus you’re hot when you’re pissing me off.”

“The same doesn’t hold true in reverse, Tony. You can’t forget that.” Bruce chews hard at his chapped lower lip. “Even if I’m falling for you, trust me, that thing in me doesn’t know love. It doesn’t know anything but destruction.”

“Christ, Bruce...” _Okay, let’s put it all on the line, shall we?_ “You want some truth? That thing IS you. It’s no ‘thing.’ It’s you, it’s a person. You may not remember everything you do, you might think you just go out like someone flipped your consciousness’s off switch, but I’ve seen you in his eyes.” Finally, he paused for a breath. “And for the record, from now on, I’m not going to call him an ‘it’.”

Bruce turned even paler and sat down hard on Tony’s bed. “You’re wrong. I’m afraid you’re wrong. I’m afraid that when we become lovers, I will turn into it and rip you apart. And the thing of it is, even if it or he or whatever doesn’t want to, doesn’t intend to, you’ll be just as dead.”

“Well, that fucking sucks.” Tony knew he could stand here and argue with Bruce all night, but they were both exhausted, both at the end of their reserves and running on fumes. “Come on, let’s try and get some sleep.”

Bruce silently toes off his shoes and his shirt, then his pants, leaving him in his boxers and nothing else. “It’s okay, Tony. You can say you don’t know what to do.”

Tony snorted and tried to distract his wandering, lustful gaze off Bruce’s near nakedness with the rather mundane task of taking off his own clothes, remembering at the last possible instant that he was going commando. “I do so know. I know I have to go get pajama pants or else end up humping you in my sleep like a sexually frustrated hamster.”

The bark of unexpected laughter behind him as he walked into his cavernous closet was pretty damned nice, though. So was hearing Bruce going into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. When Tony joined him, the man was contorted over the vanity to get a look at his scalp and the teeny, cauterized marks where the scanners went in.

“I was wondering how this conversation will read on the data in the morning.” Bruce’s mouth quirked and he stood back up. “And if it looked like I suddenly contracted some kind of skin parasite. But it’s not as bad as I thought it’d be.”

“When do you care about stuff like that? I’m the vain one, that’s kind of my thing.” Tony wrapped his arms around the other man’s middle from behind, tugging him close and laying his head on a broad shoulder.

“Maybe I care what you think, huh? Nah, couldn’t be that.” Bruce smiled, but that paleness was turning to a grey sort of exhaustion from a long week, and a longer day, and enough pain to last anyone. “Do you think we can just go to sleep?”

“Yeah. Come on, gorgeous.” Once they actually made it into the bed, they came together without any of the awkwardness Tony would have anticipated. No fumbling or arranging. His head slid seamlessly into the curve of Bruce’s neck and his body curled around the other man’s, while Bruce’s arm cradled his shoulders and stroked along his side. “This is good.”

“Yeah I figured you’d be pointier.” One thing he knew for sure was that skin on skin and the scent of Tony this close, the faint hint of musk, the clean sweat from a tiring day’s work...it all combined to make him ache with hunger. “Tony...”

“Shhh, baby, I know. Just let it hurt.” Sometimes, that’s all you could do. Let it hurt, ride it out. “Things will be better tomorrow.” Maybe he even believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks for all your kind words and kudos to Chapter 1. I swear that we'll get past the angst and into the smut eventually. Pinky promise.


	3. Tantalus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepy fumbles toward ecstasy and understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows right on the heels of An Actual Superhero

Tony woke up by slow degrees, warm in a way that was almost too much but not quite. His skin was plastered to Bruce’s, and oh sexy, he’d drooled on the poor man. With a not-terribly-effective sleepy surreptitiousness he brought up a finger to lick and gently rub at the sticky spot till the evidence was gone. It wasn’t until his half-focused eyes deemed the task complete that he noticed Bruce was watching the whole time.

“This isn’t what it looks like.” Tony buried his face in Bruce’s neck and breathed in the man’s scent, deliciously musky and earthy. 

“You weren’t just trying to rub off the drool you left on my chest?” Bruce’s voice was sleep-roughened and deep, and he cupped Tony’s chin and raised him up for a kiss, languid and heated.

It was a little like being in Hell. Like being Tantalus in the pit, desperate for that sip of water, that taste of sustaining food and being constantly, eternally denied. _Like Hell...yeah, like Hell that’s our future. That’s bullshit._ Tony had never felt the other man more relaxed, more slack and biddable. “Guilty,” he murmured against Bruce’s lips, keeping the mood just like this. Slow and steady wins the race. _Said no one, ever. Still…_

Bruce moaned, a low, growly sound deep in his chest, but he didn’t stop the kiss. Maybe he was tired of playing the role of tragic hero, or maybe he was just too aroused, too early, too exhausted to fight. And sure, maybe Tony should stop. And maybe monkeys would fly out of his ass. 

Not a word was said between them as Tony made a fluid adjustment, fitting the hard length of Bruce’s cock into the hollow of his hip and letting one hand slide around to the other man’s ass, past the waistband of his boxers to soft-strong-sweet bare flesh. 

Hesitation bloomed, felt first in the bone deep shuddery hollows of this kiss that seemed like it would never end, and Tony made a tiny, wordless noise of protest as Bruce broke off enough to murmur the worst two words in the English language: “Stop, please.”

Tony’s eyes pressed even more tightly shut, and while he slid his hand out Bruce’s underwear he didn’t pull back his hips. “‘S different this time,” he slurred against the bigger man’s lips. “Please.”

Different maybe in that they weren’t tearing at each other with barely-restrained ravening, but Bruce knew that for him, at least, it was just as hot. “Not so different for me.” 

Finally, Tony heeded the words and tilted himself back, away from the heat of Bruce’s nearly-naked flesh. “Not gonna apologize.” 

“No...wouldn’t expect you to.” Bruce leaned in once more to nuzzle Tony’s mouth, then made his own move, sliding along a flat belly with one deft hand until he was inside Tony’s pajama pants, provoking a mutual gasp as he wrapped his fingers around Tony’s aching cock. “I know what you want, Tony.” 

“What I want is for that tone in your voice to be, god damn it, illegal,” he ground out, biting his lip hard at the feeling. Against the feeling. “Fuck, Bruce, you know I don’t want it like this.” 

“No, you don’t.” Instead of a tight grip, Bruce gave Tony stroking, slow and firm, thumb rubbing precome over the tight, swollen glans. “You want me inside you.” Tony’s hips arched up and he outright whimpered, even though he would deny it later. Bruce’s voice was still that sleepy rumble, right into his ear. “You want me settled between your thighs, pinning you to the bed, my cock pushing into your gorgeous ass inch by inch until you feel my balls against your flesh, and I’m so deep you think I’m coming up the back of your throat.” 

_No fair no fair no fair…_ ”Yes...fuck it, yes, god. Yes, that…” Tony was vaguely aware he wasn’t making a shred of sense. 

“Mmm. And you would be so hot, so tight, so eager, and when I started fucking you...I know just how, just where that sweet spot is, and I would rub against every single time I thrust into you. Now...I think what you want most of all is to come for me right now.” The last was a command, a hint of sternness, that just whited out everything except this man, this bed, and his fucking gale-force orgasm. 

Super-models, starlets, pretty boys, beautiful, accomplished women...countless lovers and not one had ever made him feel like this. Like he was cored, hollowed and filled again, cradled against the surprisingly strong body of the man he loved so much. So, so goddamned much.

When it passed he looked up at Bruce, quietly pleading. _You, too. Please._ But Bruce shook his head and slipped his hand free, wrapping both arms around Tony and holding him almost bruisingly tight. “Can’t. Shh.”

“Love you too much for this,” Tony finally managed to protest, and of all the things he could have said, that was the one that hit closest to home. He could tell from the way Bruce’s body stiffened and he stole a glance into Tony’s eyes. 

“You love me. Are in love with me.” Bruce’s face was neutral, leaning almost to quizzical. 

“Like head over heels, gone baby gone,” Tony whispered. _Well, this is fucking terrifying._ His whole world turned on what the other man said next, did next. He had no control over Bruce, wanted no control, but the price was this excruciating need. 

Bruce was silent for agonizing minutes. “I’m not loveable.” 

“It’s not a math equation. Your variables are irrelevant.”

“But. I love you, too.” Like it was so very, very odd.

“Sometimes...you know, sometimes it works that way. Both ways. At once.” Tony may not know a hell of a lot about love, but he knew that once in a very great while it was real, and it happened, and you held onto it like hell.

“Next thing I know, you’ll be saying you love Him.” The ‘Him,’ the big green guy himself. 

“Next thing you know, I will. He’s you. You have a fierce, overwhelming need to protect what you care for. That need is what channels your rage outward, to the big bads.” 

“And if there are no enemies?” He’d almost killed Natasha, almost brought down the whole helicarrier, and that wasn’t even counting the awful things he’d done before SHIELD. 

“That’s what we need to work on. Because honestly? If I ended up in bed with a big green guy, I’d figure something out.” Call him a pervert, but Tony could make it work. His box of tricks was pretty damned deep. 

Bruce rocked back in the bed, leaving Tony abruptly alone and missing the solid heat. “You...Tony, seriously? You can’t be serious. I know you’re reckless, but gambling with your life? Russian roulette with me as the bullet?”

“I think...if you were turned on, you’d still be turned on. I know what to do with turned on people of all persuasions.” He propped himself up on his elbow. “And I’m done with that particular game, by the way. I’m here to stay.”

“I think you are certifiable.” Bruce shook his head as if to clear it. “It’s like...I can feel this rumble, from a long, long way down inside me. Like rocks grinding against each other.” It sounded almost...pleased.

“He’s purring.” Tony had to grin. “You just described purring, as accomplished by something gigantic and powerful like a Bengal tiger or a gamma-irradiated Hulk. Maybe you ought to listen to him more often.” 

“That’s not possible. It’s not like he’s just camping out down there.” Bruce’s pissy voice was ridiculously endearing.

“You know what I think? I think by the end of this week we’ll have enough data to satisfy you. Me, my gut tells me yeah. That’s exactly how it is. Now we just have to convince your big, sexy brain.” Tony was well aware of the ‘light at end of tunnel equals train’ phenomenon, but this time maybe...just maybe it really was the sun.


	4. Abandon All Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abandon all reason where love grows. Tony and Bruce push some boundaries (very, very porny boundaries), the experiment concludes, and a visitor delivers an ultimatum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's filthy in this one? Our boys, that's who. Batten down the hatches, everyone!

_This situation,_ Tony reflected in a brief moment of clarity, wrists rubbing desperately where they were firmly tethered above his head in fiendishly clever knots, _has rapidly gone right out of my control._

No sooner had the moment come then it was lost to a strong hand, surprisingly demanding, catching at his short, spiky hair and yanking him into another thought-obliterating kiss. “Stop it,” Bruce murmured. “Overthinking it is my job. Right now…” A long finger pressed through the spit-slick, aching little hole, and he felt Bruce inside him for the first time, and INSIDE had become one of his obsessions where this man was concerned. “Your only job is to feel this.”

“No...no problem, oh god, Bruce...more…” Always demands of more from Tony, but now at least he’d accepted that ‘more’ would not be answered by his beloved’s really fucking impressive cock impaling him down onto the mattress. 

“Brat.” Not the first time Tony had been called that in the last week. Accusations between them like brat and coward and slut and ‘so are you ACTUALLY a goddamned virgin?’ had flown fast and thick, threatening Bruce’s seemingly endless patience even more than their grasping, gasping, one-sided sexual encounters did. 

And that, in the end, was what had convinced Tony to let Bruce have his way, before the week of monitoring was even done. They'd even relocated to New York, moved all the research, and settled into the Tower that Tony and Bruce were both starting to think of as home. Six nights in, and he was tied to the bed, rimmed to begging before succumbing to the ungodly pleasure of those much-fetishized hands. 

Bruce’s ever-so-slightly green tinged eyes were locked on his as he pushed deeper, found the swollen bud of prostate and rubbed. “Don’t you dare, beautiful. Don’t you dare come, yet.” Easy for him to say, when Tony’s back arched right up the bed and his cock spat precome across his belly, only to be licked up immediately by his lover’s darting head. Just a moment, then a moan, and then his eyes were back, holding him in place as surely as those ropes. 

“I don’t think you...fuck oh Jesus fuck…know what you’re asking.”

“I have a reasonably good idea.” Because when that finger disappeared Tony wailed before biting it off with teeth sinking into his bottom lip. There were some truly obscene noises, and Tony strained to watch Bruce spit on his grasping little hole, squirting copious lube onto those gorgeous fingers before returning with two. 

Tony would never have said he fantasized about being fucked, per se, much less writhing helplessly on two slim, deft fingers and babbling wordlessly for more, and yet… _here we are._

“Jesus fucking Christ, Tony...you’re so fucking beautiful,” Bruce murmured to him, adding a third finger and using that extra, if somewhat cramped, dexterity to devise even more ways to drive the man mad. “That’s it...god, yes, fuck yourself on my fingers.” Sometime between that first time, and this, Bruce had let the “virginal supergenius” thing (as Tony liked to call it) fall away. Maybe it WAS the beast’s voice escaping through his shielded, guarded mind, tingeing the low murmurs and the feral joy he took at pleasuring his beloved, but it had ceased to matter to Bruce. God knows his pretty little slut had never cared to begin with. 

They found a rhythm, between the wedged, deep, hard penetration of his fingers and Tony’s rabbit-fast shoves down onto them, that somehow made sense even when it shouldn’t. “God, want it all, want you in me to the fucking elbow want your cock want everything, every fucking thing about you...love you, you fucking bastard…” When Tony didn’t get what he wanted, he could be a little bitchy. God help him, Bruce started to think it was adorable, if not especially that salutary to his lover’s personal safety and continued existence. 

“I love you, too, my filthy, sweet whore,” Bruce growled right back, met Tony’s mouth with his and doing unspeakable things with his fingers to the tender places inside the man that he’d never really dreamed existed in himself. Sure, he’d driven his share of pretty boys crazy, but himself? No...not until this man with a goddamned resolve of steel made him feel it. “Now,” Bruce growled, tempo speeding up to finally, finally match Tony’s. “Come for me right now.”

Everything seemed to freeze for Tony, to coalesce, and then he realized that somehow Bruce was pushing his thumb into his prostate from the outside while three fingers trapped the delicate glad there from inside. That was absolutely all he could take, and ‘now’ or even ‘right fucking now’ or ‘at your fucking command’all made perfect sense. He thought his balls were going shrivel up and crawl right back inside him he came so goddamned hard, right at Bruce’s command. A few days of frustrated bickering in place of frustrated not-sex and it looked like some kind of hentai business down there, come everywhere, and yet Tony managed to breathe out, yet again, “More.”

“No.” This time it wasn’t the silky-gravelly murmur, more a snap, and when Bruce’s hands came up to untie him, there was no ignoring the verdigris tint under the skin. His lover, not a big man to begin with, was bigger than him suddenly, still on top of him until his hands and arms were free, and then he sat back between Tony’s still-spread thighs. Bruce was wearing nothing but boxer briefs, which strained around his bulkier frame and the trapped cock… _Well, fuck me...he was fucking hung like a horse before._ “Too close.” So close that monosyllables were all he could manage.

Tony felt he rightfully deserved the Nobel Peace Prize for not crawling into his lover’s arms and ripping that stupid fabric out of the way and impaling himself on that cock. “Then just let me see you. Please.”

“Not safe.” Even at this, the earliest possible step in the transition process, obviously halted by Bruce’s terrifying willpower, he was already so much stronger than the man who appeared so fragile to him now. 

“Trust you.” Tony sat up and crawled slowly into Bruce’s arms, giving the man plenty of time to back off, only to be snatched from off his knees and into an embrace that felt desperate. A deeper heartbeat sounding against his, admittedly, slightly squished head, and it was listening to the pulse of the earth beneath his ear, like when he was young and a nanny told him he could hear the ocean in a seashell. Even as a small child, Tony was smart enough to know that was bullshit (and there went nanny number ten after he told her as much), but this...this was the real fucking deal. 

His arms fixed tight around Bruce’s chest, and it wasn’t even about sex or that huge damned erection grounding into his ass, it was about this. His trust, and Bruce accepting it, taking comfort from it. “Mine.” That low, vibrato murmur had to be felt as much as heard. _Oh god. Okay, maybe it’s a little bit about sex._

“Yours,” Tony whispered back, pulling from the embrace just enough to reach up and hold the other man’s face between his palms. The Bengal tiger version of Í love you.’ The gamma-irradiated rampaging id version. Their version.

“Shh. Rest now.” Bruce gathered his lover and stretched out the bed that had been perfectly big enough for them for almost two weeks and yet was now somewhat...not. Tony didn’t need to pull up the covers, because Bruce’s arms were warm and strong and he was warm and strong, and maybe Tony was more tired than he’d thought. _Results tomorrow. They’ll be awesome…_

**

They actually were pretty awesome. Tony woke up to an entirely inappropriately embarrassed Bruce and had to convince him through judicious application of tongue-kisses and quickly fought-off groping that everything was more than fine, and then they showered (still not together, damn it) and went down to see what JARVIS’ big brain spat out after a week’s worth of neurological data mapping. 

"I’ve never let JARVIS have a whole week to do anything before,” Tony said, taking the cup of coffee that Bruce handing him. 

“That is depressingly true, Doctor Banner.” Bruce had to laugh and Tony had to give him the stink eye, and yet no one could argue with JARVIS’ assessment. 

"I **will** rename you Marvin,” Tony threatened, for probably the thousandth time. 

“You would have to rewrite approximately 22,480,000 lines of code.” In JARVIS-speak, 'you’re lazy.’

“Ctrl-A, Find and Replace,” Tony countered. “Go make a cappuccino and then when I come back, Marvin.”

“More like, when you come back you’ll have 22,480,000 lines of broken code,” Bruce offered helpfully, clearly taking sides. “Twelve year olds with off-the-shelf Walmart edition desktops could hack you.” 

JARVIS chose wisely to remain silent, but one of the robots made a suspicious hooting sound. “Data models are at your desktop, Sir.”

It took Tony and Bruce all of ten minutes to blow up the models, rebuild them, and then… “What if we put a noradrenaline shunt here…” Änd use the 3D printer to build it from my own brain tissue…" "It could just switch on when…” “We could build the organic monitor the same way!”

They were so involved with the data and the generally being too smart for their own good that it took JARVIS several tries to break in and announce they had a terribly urgent visitor upstairs in the living room. Even so, they were brought up short when JARVIS projected a visual of their visitor--Director Fury, pacing the huge room like he was about to see how thick that glass really was and how powerful that prototype hand cannon he was packing really was. “Fuck,” they said in unison, not-quite-running upstairs like a couple of guilty teenagers sneaking off with the booze they think no one will miss.

Somehow, Tony and Bruce managed to avoid an outright Risky Business-esque slide into the living room. “Director Fury, to what do we owe the honor?” Tony should have known by now how well that gambit usually works, hence the elbow in the side from Bruce, who was trying to look innocent.

“Did you think for one microsecond that I would somehow fail to notice your adventures in neurochemical engineering?” One eyebrow cocked up as he took them in, and then he shook his head. 

“We...weren’t trying to hide anything,” Bruce replied, suddenly sure as sure could be why the Director had paid them a personal visit. 

“Right. Let me make this perfectly clear, gentlemen. I could not conceivably care less if the two of you fall in love and have a wedding on Maui or any of that shit. It means less than nothing to me. However,” he turned to them and fixed them with a gaze that probably was the Platonic ideal of the phrase 'íf looks could kill.’ "Under no circumstances whatsoever will I allow you to ‘fix’ Doctor Banner.”

Tony was up for argument, Bruce could see it, but he also knew that an argument about this was pretty much one very surefire way to fuck up their lives together irrevocably. He curled a hand around Tony’s upper arm and squeezed gently. "I figured that you would show up and say...just that, Director.”

“You did? I didn’t. I didn’t even remotely expect that our good Director here would want to keep you handy just to point you at whatever bad guy raises its fuck-ugly head the next time.” Tony was not just up for argument--he caught his lover playing with the bracelets on both wrists and squeezed even tighter. 

Fury stalked over and loomed over Tony, eye flashing. “Stark, I want you to think very hard about what I am going to say, because despite the fact that you are a fucking genius, you are a goddamned idiot. If not for the Hulk, what do you think would have happened to New York? The world? Who could have done what he did? Who in this whole fucking happy shiny goddamned world?” Tony opened his mouth to dig that hole even deeper, but Fury didn’t even let him. “Who would have saved your sorry fucking metal ass after you boosted a nuke through a hole in space/time?”

“When **I** saved him," a quiet murmur that arrested both his lover and Fury in mid-argument. If they were going to argue over him, the least Bruce could do was try and make Fury understand what he and Tony had accomplished in the last two weeks. "I saved him. And Bruce Banner would not have been able to save Tony. To save anyone. Director Fury, you’re right. There can be no cure for me.”

“Bruce, what in the actual fuck? What about your life?” Our life, was the part that went unsaid. 

“Look, I’ve got a real damn good idea why you two are so obsessed with putting the big guy down.” Tony looked over at Bruce and noted the blush with a staggering wash of affection that despite his best ‘pissing contest with Fury’ mode must have been obvious on his face. "I just so happen to have access to another of those handy Hulk containers, like the one Loki ended up using to boot Thor out of the helicarrier.”

"I’m not fucking my boyfriend in a glass box on a helicarrier.” Tony crossed his arms over his chest, since Bruce had to let go of his arm to hide his face in his hands. 

“Believe me when I say no one wants to see that.” Fury and Tony shared a glance at the embarrassed super-id on gamma radiation looking like he wished the immaculate floor would swallow him up, and Tony got the distinct, if very fleeting, impression of fondness from the older man. "I can have it dropped off wherever you want, and if things go south the first few times, then you have a quick out, Stark. Although, and you won’t like this, I’d pick somebody I trusted to at least have an ear at the door when you….” 

Tony irrepressibly mouthed against Bruce’s shoulder, “pop his cherry?’’ and Fury chuckled despite himself, nodding. Something like that. 

“Get with your liaisons, arrange transport. Pick someone you trust, just as long as it’s not me.” Fury was gone as soon as he came, leaving Bruce and Tony to stare at each other. 

“You said ÝOU saved me,” Tony murmurs. “Finally getting through to you?”

“Yes...and the data helps, even if we can’t use it to do what we wanted.” Bruce pressed his forehead to Tony’s, then drew the other man into an embrace. 

"I wanted you to have a choice.”

"I know, love. But I see several choices here.” Even if they weren’t neat or tidy. “We go on like we have been. I would, you know.”

Tony looked up at him. “No. That is not our life.” Not their whole life, the story of their love--continual denial. 

"Agreed.” Bruce kissed him softly. “We just...go somewhere, very secluded, and do this on our own terms.”

"Or we go upstairs right now and you fuck me into the mattress and I couldn’t care less what you look like when you’re coming inside me.”

"I...ohh. Tempting. But...This is very crowded place. I believe that...every part of me loves you, sees you as mine, my mate, but there is always a chance I could be wrong, and…”

“Russian roulette. I wouldn’t make you live with that, Bruce. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Bruce wasn’t the only one to gain a deeper understanding of his motivations. Maybe this was just what love did to you. And it wasn’t half bad, unless you considered sexual frustration bad, which he did.

“So Fury’s box…think we need someone to actually...um...be there?”

“Not Cap, he would literally expire of embarrassment. Seems like not much would faze Thor, but he’s in Asgard. Ït’s obvious, really, if you think about it. Clint and Natasha. Could probably write an Encyclopedia Britannia-sized book of all the things they’ve seen.” And done. And done to each other, for that matter. 

"Um, well. Yes. I guess that’d be...okay, for some values of okay.” Somewhat less mortifying, at any rate. “”And you’ll be wearing the bracelets, and the suitcase’ll be in there with us.” With those safeguards in place, it was a chance worth taking. 

“Bruce, once I was flippant about you rolling the dice with me in the way of wherever they landed. I know it hasn’t been long, really, but...I’ve learned what this means to you. Letting me in. I…” _For once, I have no fucking clue what to say._

“Love me. I know.” Was that smile just a little cheeky? “I love you, too. Think this happens every day?"

_Brilliant man even brings the pop culture references back where they started._

“So let’s make the call.”


	5. Suitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bruce take a big step. No, not THAT one (that's in chapter 6). The murder dolls come for dinner. Actual Clint/Natasha. 
> 
> "Now there's a text you don't get every day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are somehow fundamentally opposed to Clint/Natasha, well...I can't help you there. It's not explicit, but it's in here.

It wasn’t really so terribly late, and Natasha and Clint had been lying together in their bed, doing the naked debrief after getting home from their latest mission. Too many close calls and too many weird triggers for the both of them and all they’d been able to do after walking in the door was fuck. Fuck out all the goddamned misery of the past few days, a visceral response and the only therapy that ever seemed to work. Those little girls in that fucking brothel were not Tasha, and now they would never be her, just like the boys in the next room over wouldn’t be Clint. Slave trafficking was their personal, clandestine crusade from within SHIELD, one that Fury not only tolerated but subtly provisioned.

So really, ten pm on a Friday night wasn't late, not per se. It didn’t stop them from sighing in united irritation when their phones buzzed in unison. “I want recognition that I am taking this one for the team,” Clint murmured, untangling his arm from under Tasha, cursing softly for both of them when he found his watch was caught in her hair. Then he was up, the light from the street limning his naked body as he searched through hastily discarded and ripped clothes ( _Damn, another pair of these miniscule panties fallen to the cause._ ) until he found his phone and Tasha’s. 

He returned from his brief foray to the not-very-magical world of Beyond the Bed with his trophies to find her curled on her side and watching him with that blank, flat predator’s eyes that still, after so many years, terrified the living hell out of him. What if the time came and they couldn't kickstart her again? What if he finally loses her to all that red. “Hey, Tash. Here’s your phone.” His voice was a little louder than he would have preferred given the setting, but it made her blink and reach out to take it, giving him room to slide back in next to her. 

They looked at the texts simultaneously, and while Clint’s eyebrows made a mad dash for the top of his forehead, Tasha just turned her head to one side and said, “Now there’s a text you don’t get everyday.” 

_Need to try and fuck Bruce in that big glass cage thingie. Considering he might go all green and lopsided, need backup the first time. Up for it? xxTony._

“Kisses? Did he just sign that text like a lovestruck tween girl?” Clint is just as baffled, staring at the small screen. 

“Come make sure the Hulk doesn’t kill me while I fuck Bruce. Kisses, Tony.” Yup, that was the correct translation. 

“Hell of a thing.” 

“I have to see this.” So no eating a bullet for the next few days at least. Clint looked over at Tasha, and her barely-there smile makes him grin from ear to ear because it actually goes all the way to her eyes. Who gave a shit about Tony and Bruce’s love life? Apparently, Natasha. _Whatever it takes. Anything it takes._ Clint’s silent, constant prayer to some bastard god he didn’t believe in anyway. 

**  
“And...they’re coming here. To discuss, what? Logistics?” Bruce’s blush ever since Tony had sent that text last night was in danger of permanent residence on his pale skin. 

“Basically. Dinner tonight.” If only Tony could contain his growing and almost obscene glee at the thought of finally FINALLY having Bruce. No matter what happened, Tony knew in every fiber of his being that by the end of the weekend he and Bruce would be lovers. _Just like real boys, instead of tin men and big green monsters._

He rolled over and stretched extravagantly, his naked body freed from the silk sheet, all save for one thigh flung over Bruce’s legs. Another night plastered to Bruce by sweat and his own seed and god help him, more fucking drool. Apparently he had no control over any of his bodily fluids around the man. 

“Um…if you could scare up some coffee, I could...start a bath.” Bruce’s words were halting, and the blush deepened into possible-stroke territory. The virginal supergenius was making a comeback, and part of Tony was thrilled, while another part wished the man just approached it all with the same hedonistic glee he did.

Tony flopped onto his stomach and elbows, something that drove his morning erection into the soft silk hard enough to make him squirm. “You mean..for us to take together? I feel I need clarity on this.”

“It’s not very complicated, Tony. Yes. For both of us.” Bruce worried his lower lip with his teeth until Tony darted in for a hard, claiming kiss, the idea of seeing his lover naked, feeling his body beneath his, dear god. 

“Jesus, Bruce, yes. By all means. You bath, me coffee. I’ll be right back.” Tony didn’t even bother to dress as he left the bed, heading down to the kitchen while Bruce went into the huge bathroom. 

This was such a momentous occasion that he couldn’t resist making two cappuccinos instead of just coffee, gathering up a small tray with the steaming cups, some croissants, and fruit from the container in the fridge. One day he’s really going to have to thank the grocery-fairy that JARVIS employs. Or give him a huge raise. Or both. 

He carried in the tray and almost dropped it as he caught Bruce in the act of stripping down to skin. _Oh I have been very very good. Thank you, Santa, Baby Jesus, Buddha, Odin, all of the above._ “Please, love, by all means, don’t stop for me.” Tony set the tray on the wide lip of the very enormous bathtub, and then turned to watch. 

Bruce fidgeted with the drawstring of his pajama pants and flushed...was that vermilion? This was not the time to consult the pantone book, that was for sure. “Are you just...gonna stare?” 

“You’d better damn well believe it, gorgeous. I’ve got a front row seat to the greatest show on earth.” 

“Me?” Bruce shook his head and laughed softly. “You have it bad. Your judgment is shot.” And with that the other man hooked his thumbs in the waistband of pajama pants and boxers both, probably because he didn’t want to have to go through the whole show twice, and shoved them down past his half-hard cock and to the floor. He stepped out and kicked them to the side and Tony admired the hell not only out of the view, but also Bruce’s stance--a little tense, as if afraid of rejection suddenly, but with his hands to the side, taking a personal risk to let Tony see him. 

“God, Bruce. Fuck. Yes, you. And you’re really…” It was Tony’s turn to bite his lip, wrestling uncomfortably between the words that his heart wants to spit out and how fucking trite they were, how there were no words for him to describe his lover. “You’re really goddamned beautiful. Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Once the words were said, Tony was aware of how choked his voice sounded as he forced them out. Naked honesty was hard, damn it, and he was not going to cry all over Bruce because he just loved him so much. That would be ridiculous. 

Not so ridiculous to Bruce, it would seem, since he closed the short distance and wrapped Tony tight in his arms, clinging on with his surprising strength. “Christ, Tony. It’s nice to meet you.” 

That provoked a breathy laugh against Bruce’s shoulder. “I’ve known you since the first moment we met.” 

“And yet I feel I might be the first person who’s ever met what lives underneath your jokes and your bullshit and your frantic mind always screeching around from one thing to the next.” Bruce took a deep breath and held Tony even tighter. “I love this guy, too.” Softly.

“You maybe see what I mean, then.” They were both complicated, both given to trying to stomp down hard on what howled or hurt deepest within them. Tony’s reflexive self-protection, because at heart he was just a neglected kid who felt like a failure because his father always made sure of that. Bruce’s raging, leaping passion that was only partly about anger, only ever partly about anger. 

“It’s… a lot clearer now.” Because Bruce was sometimes slow about his emotions, but he wasn’t stupid, not ever. 

“Tub overflowing in 3, 2…” Tony smiled against Bruce’s skin, the smile deepening as the other man let him go quickly and just made it to the faucet in time. As Bruce fussed at letting some of the water out so they wouldn’t splash it all over breakfast and the bathroom, Tony felt his mouth open, but he wasn’t really aware of what was going to come out. In fact, all he could think watching this man tut and bother about the bathwater was ‘I love you so fucking much it’s ridiculous.’ 

“Marry me.” That was what came out instead. Bruce looked up, brows knitting together, and Tony had a feeling that his own face looked much the same. And yet, now that the words were out, Tony had no desire whatsoever to take them back. 

“I’m sorry...marry you?” Bruce sat on the edge of the tub and picked up cappuccino in shaky hands, immediately abandoning it because the cup was too delicate and he was too clumsy. 

“Marry me. Legally, publicly. You are not some dirty little secret, Bruce. I am...I am proud of this. I want everyone to know how proud. I want YOU to know how proud.” 

“Tony...Tony...your company would probably take a big hit…”

“Good thing I took it private last quarter--what, you don’t read the business news?”

“You’ve got a lot of fans…”

“Not to be rude, but fuck their tiny sensibilities if they can’t handle it.”

“You’ve never even proposed to anyone.” Not even Pepper. 

“Still not getting your point here, gorgeous.” 

“I’m...not...suitable…” The other man’s objections were growing weaker by the moment.

“Oh, I think you would look unbelievably hot in a tux standing next to me. You’re unbelievably suitable.”

“That was an awful pun.” Now it was Bruce’s turn to sound choked.

“You can make them stop any time, you know.” 

“If I just say yes.” 

“God, say yes already. I am possibly literally dying here.” 

“Yes.”  
“I admire your continuing commitment to making me work for the yes,” Tony managed before finally giving up any pretense of self control and pulling Bruce up and into a kiss. It reminded him of their first--it was an obliteration of a thing, teeth and tongues and Bruce wanting it so bad that Tony could taste it. 

Bruce growled and snarled and picked Tony up, first sign that things were going their usual way, and then pushed him against the tiled wall, his hard cock seeking the welcoming groove of smooth skin between Tony’s hip and thigh. _Fucking hell.._ Tony wrapped his legs around Bruce’s hips and held him right there, just there, not quite where he belonged but so, so close. 

Bruce’s hips stayed still, even as he did his best to crawl into Tony mouth-first. Even now, control slipped halfway off, he wouldn’t let it go. One green-tinged hand held Tony against the wall easily, and the other pushed Tony's legs off his hips so he could drop down to his knees. 

"Jesus, Bruce...you have no idea how hot it is seeing you like this, on your knees." Tony was watching raptly, freed from even having to hold his own weight while Bruce growled softly and opened his mouth, taking Tony deep down. 

The suckling was merciless and hungry and rather devoid of art other than the fact the man could swallow him whole. A few seconds later and Tony was writhing, his head banging against the wall as he reached down and fisted his lover's hair, crying out brokenly as the man wrenched another orgasm out of him like it was what he was put on earth to do. 

Tony found himself attached to the broad chest again as Bruce carried him to the bathtub. That's when he realized what really just happened. Before they got as far as the tub, Tony looked up at his lover, who was farther along on the change than he'd ever been--a good solid 7 feet of verdigris muscle while still recognizably Bruce.

"Bruce, put me down." It was soft, but firm, and his lover did as bidden (and didn't that bode well?). Tony looked at the white come spattered across his lover's belly, stark against his skin now, this far along. "Oh, sweetheart..." His heart trip-hammered because god, how vulnerable must Bruce feel right now?

"Don't try to explain, love." Because this far gone, Bruce gets monosyllables at best, and Tony didn't want to force him to try to articulate what Tony's smart enough to guess at anyway. Bruce came from sucking him off, and it probably came as quite a surprise. It wasn't about Bruce's pleasure, it was about Tony's, and so this could happen without him fully Hulking out. Tony got it.

It was a long reach up to Bruce's face, but he cupped it anyway, even dared to tug the other man into a kiss that was surprisingly delicate, like Bruce was mapping new worlds with a new mouth and a new body. "So goddamned beautiful," Tony murmured again. "And mine." 

"MINE." 

"Yeah, that too. Now shh. I've been dreaming about this." Tony crouched down and curled his fingers into the tree-trunk legs and leaned in to nuzzle at the softening prick, the musk of it heady and enough to send him halfway to hard again even though he'd just come. After the nuzzling came a questing, hungry tongue lapping up every drop from roughened skin. 

Bruce groaned or growled or made some other wonderfully throaty and chesty noise, and his heavy hand rested on Tony's head. "Too much..." It had the inflection of a question.

" **Never.** " Tony held on and lapped and licked and then dipped his tongue down to lave across the heavy, relaxed testicles. _Jesus. Fuck._

Eventually, Bruce pulled him back to his feet and toward the tub, already smaller and less like Kermit the Frog's long lost brother. By the time they settled in the still-hot water, Tony wrapped in Bruce's arms, his lover was almost back to normal. Exhausted, but back to normal. 

"So...that happened," Bruce finally managed.

"Thank GOD." 

"I...Tony...it's been almost my entire adult life." 

"I know, baby." Tony turned to look at the man. "I know it was a big, huge, monumental deal. I know it was something you were terrified of. And I feel like...I dunno. Can you feel humbled and god-like all at once? That you trusted me so much?"

"If anyone can, it's you." Bruce's arms tightened and he kissed Tony's neck. "Now hand me the fancy coffee, I'm wiped out." 

**  
Bruce was so drowsy after the partial transformation and warm bath and delicious, buttery carbs that he went back to bed for a while, but not before sending a shopping list to Tony's phone for dinner that night. Apparently, Bruce thought it was 'rude' to cater for two friends in your own home and he was fully planning on cooking a meal for Natasha and Clint. For one, he was betting they really didn't get home-cooked meals very often. And for two, he seemed to be nesting. 

Tony took the damn list just because Bruce referred to this as 'their' own home, and it made his heart hurt in that good way that defies description. Of course, that didn't stop him from asking JARVIS where to go for this stuff. JARVIS oh so helpfully directed him to a nearby Indian grocery (who knew?!), and then some very nice people helped him navigate. (Getting to say with a grin that his fiance is the cook and he's just the go-fer and having them smile was just the icing on the cake.) He felt quite accomplished by the time he got back home with everything on the list, and he stored it away and fiddled in the lab till Bruce woke up and dressed in jeans and a rumpled purple button down, staying barefoot.

There was a barefoot in the kitchen joke to be made there, if only Tony weren't such a gentleman.

**

It was strangely unnerving to have Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton standing outside the door. Tony glanced at the camera feeds and saw that they were perfectly still, waiting, dressed nominally in normal person clothes. Clint was in jeans, motorcycle boots, a plain black tee shirt, and a dark red leather jacket cut close to his powerful body. Natasha's outfit was, well, much the same. Slight heel on the boots though, and a dark red shirt and black jacket. They were like murder dolls, a matched set, though there was no way they consciously coordinated their clothing.

Tony opened the door and smiled. "Clint! Natasha! Come in. Bruce is cooking." He made it sound like a momentous event. They slid through the door and flanked Tony, unselfconsciously surrounding him as he led them back to the huge kitchen, where there were already two bottles of wine open and waiting. 

"It smells great," Clint said, obviously the more socially adjusted of the two, whereas Natasha went right for the wine before going over and peering into the pans on the stove, one hand resting lightly on Bruce's shoulder. Clint didn't look surprised at the touch, but Tony was. Natasha doesn't generally touch anyone unless it's to break something they'll need later, but Bruce just brought that out in people. 

"Lamb biryani, hm? Looks like you picked up more in India than just a convenient cover." Bruce smiled and got a spoon so she could taste. "Spicy, I approve."

Maybe Bruce was just better with broken things. When he could turn his back on the food preparation, Bruce put the kitchen towel across his shoulder and leaned against a counter, picking up his wine glass. "I just wanted to show my appreciation for you coming over tonight, and, um, for..." He gestured helplessly with the glass.

"Helping you out with your sex problem," Clint supplied helpfully, barely suppressing a smile.

"Er. Yes." 

"I wouldn't classify it as a problem, I mean, damn that man is like a demon in the sack. Just this morning he even managed to..." Tony was cheerfully, gleefully perverse about discussing things polite people don't discuss. Ever. 

Which was why two voices immediately interjected with, "No! Enough information!" 

Natasha hadn't said anything. Her response, after a long sip of wine, was, "Just this morning he what?"

Bruce blushed even more, Clint had that 'well, don't look at me, I wasn't the one who raised her in a brothel and an assassin training camp' look, and only Tony raised his eyebrows in pleasure. She had so been the right choice. "Bring that glass of wine, red. Bring the rest of the bottle. We're gonna go out on the balcony to talk this out like adults while the kids finish dinner." 

Almost obediently, Natasha did as she was told, following Tony out to the balcony, skipping the tastefully set aside tables to walk along the path to the edge, setting the bottle down on the ground as she leaned on the wall. "The problem isn't that he can't get you off, the problem is that he can't get off." She summed it up with brutal efficiency. "And yet this morning..." 

"He came while he was sucking me off. Pinned against a wall. God, that was the hottest thing..."

"And you want it to be more than an afterthought, too." Her head cocked to one side. "Hm." 

"Hm? Of course I want it to be more than an afterthought. I love him. I want us to get past this, so it's not always so painful and frustrating for both of us." Tony narrowed his own eyes, processing her reactions. _Someone is surprised that a man would turn down endless one-way, lay-back-and-let-me-do-everything orgasms._ And then, _Jesus, that is so fucking sad._ Tony kept that off his face.

"So the concern is that when he's actively taking you in some way, it won't be an afterthought for him, and he'll lose all control and rip you to pieces." She shook her head. "He wouldn't." 

"I'm...kind of surprised you would say that. Considering." Tony made spinny motions over his head with the hand not holding the wine glass to indicate 'helicarrier.' 

"It was his first incident in over a year." She shrugs. "And it happened because he was very suddenly in pain and terrified. He held on so hard for me, too, but he just lost. You saw yourself, the more he changes back and forth, the better he is at controlling himself when he hulks out. All of that said..." She echoed Tony's spinny motion. "It was not one of my best memories." 

"So you think that it bodes well, then? For tomorrow?" Tony refilled his own wine glass, then Natasha's. 

"I think he's going to hulk out at first, so you better make damn sure you're ready for him. But I don't think he is going to hurt you in any way you can't get stitched back together from. Of course, is he going to freak out if he wrecks you for a bit?" Even Tony was a bit surprised at her blank candor.

"At first, but I will load up on pain meds and make light of it all, and eventually, I'll get him to accept it, to try again, and again, until we have this thing conquered. Preferably before the wedding." 

"Wedding. Congratulations." She didn't seem surprised.

"That's it? You're the first person I've told." Tony was vaguely offended.

"Weddings are cute. I'm sure yours will be...cute." 

_Love is for children._ Wasn't that what she told Loki? And yet her and Clint...that was love, but maybe only for some values of love. Or all values, even the ones no one talks about. "I was hoping more for eccentric and likely to cause all manner of mischief, but I guess cute is okay." 

"If you make me wear a pastel, I will gut you in your sleep." 

"Um. Duly noted. Ma'am."

**  
The rest of the evening passed without incident. Bruce's biryani was a hit, and between the four of them there was nothing left. If Tony had to guess, Natasha was responsible for at least one bottle of wine and didn't even seem tipsy. _Oh, Russian. How could I forget?_

Plans were set and Bruce only had to leave the room twice out of sheer embarrassment, which was half as many times as Tony had predicted. After dinner, they went to the lab to pull up maps--somewhere relatively close to home but not overly populated and where they could put the cage and have it go unnoticed.

After a location and time were set, Clint and Natasha took their leave, not speaking but moving their hands from time to time as they walked close together, as though they didn't have much use for words.

Bruce closed the door behind them and turned to Tony. "For two beautiful, lethal human beings, they seem...sad." 

"It's in the eyes, baby." Tony walked over and took Bruce by the hand, leading him over to the sofa, curling up together at one end, Tony worming up under Bruce's arm to rest his head on the man's chest. Not even a heartbeat later, Bruce's fingers were stroking gently along his hair and his neck and shoulder.

"Not our eyes anymore." It was a bare whisper, and Tony looked up at his brand new fiance. 

"No, not ours. Not ever again."


	6. You Gave Me Magical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, it took us long enough. Extra warnings this chapter for fisting and toys and kink in general, as well as for the tiniest bit of het that crept into the slash at the very end. Clint and Natasha are sneaky like that. (And before you ask, yes. Totally writing the wedding.) In fact, let's add some fake!tags: natasha's a magificent bitch, clint is a slut, clint is a size queen, team love, no secrets here, why bother, everyone's too goddamned smart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the amazing support throughout this over-year-long process. Now that I have my mojo back, I'll be posting MUCH more, and you guys totally helped me get it back. 
> 
> (PS, I stole this chapter title from Biffy Clyro's "Biblical.")

"C'mon, baby...just...fuck. Yes." Tony was sweating and a mess of come and god he was sore and it was absolutely goddamned phenomenal. 

"You sure?" Bruce leaned over his quivering body and murmured the words in his ear, in that somehow-still-not-illegal growly purr that made Tony just shake all the harder. His slick thumb rubbed at the rim of Tony's stretched-open pucker, a wicked, evil tease. 

"Jesus, Bruce, you bastard, yes...Do it." The familiar noise that Tony had come to think of as 'and yet MORE lube' preceded the pressure of that thumb inside him, a sure and steady push that wasn't even the most intense part of it. No, that was coming up in...oh god now.

"No need for name-calling, my greedy little slut," Bruce said, using the moment to get the widest part of his balled up hand inside his beloved. Just feeling the slick, over-taxed muscles snug up around his wrist, the low keening noise of his mate, brought him out of his proverbial shell. Filthy language, and the start of the transformation, right up to the farthest point where Bruce could arrest it.

After that, it was all "MINE." 

Tony actually shoved his own fist in his mouth to bite on, body wanting to writhe with the obscene intensity of the pleasure and simultaneously cringe in on itself with the sheer vulnerability. It was closest he'd ever been to any human being, the most trust he'd ever shown, and oh god it was worth it. So fucking worth it.

And the fact that he'd come something like four times while they worked up to this sure as hell didn't hurt. Here it was gone three AM, and they'd started almost as soon as Clint and Natasha had left. 

And then Bruce did SOMETHING with that hand in him, relaxed it as much he could, and went right for his prostate as his mouth sealed itself over and around Tony's suddenly-straining prick, suckling hard and there was orgasm five. Nothing left to give but that didn't stop Tony from trying, from his whole body turning itself inside out in offering to this maddening creature.

When it finally passed, Bruce pulled off Tony's over-sensitized dick and nuzzled the empty balls before moving down to lick and taste around the stretched out ring of muscle. Even that felt incredible, but all Tony could do was twitch weakly and mewl. Whatever Bruce discovered, it pleased him from the sound of that purr. "No blood."

"Go...us." Tony just felt full, content, a little sore but not anything critical. In truth, he'd been training himself for this for days with a series of plugs, but he hadn't wanted to tell Bruce for fear the poor man would stroke out from the blush. Mostly, it was just a matter of getting used to being filled by more and more and more, because he'd sorta lied to Natasha. If Bruce made him bleed, or need stitches, or whatever, he **wouldn't** get over it. It would break his heart, and Tony would not allow that. 

So yeah, getting fisted was intense as hell, with Bruce there, his eyes, the heat of his mouth, his really outrageously large hands, but it wasn't his first rodeo, so to speak. And nothing but nothing would fuck up tomorrow. Surely not his fragile, only-human body. 

They had to wait for Bruce to calm down enough to carefully withdraw, and Tony half propped himself up on an elbow to look down at the man. "See? We got this." 

Bruce was shaking, and he pulled Tony up into his arms. "I love you so much." 

"Obviously." Tony managed an exhausted smile against his neck. "And I obviously love you. Now...shower." 

Bruce nodded wordlessly and helped Tony into the huge walk-in contraption. When Tony got there, he melted bonelessly down onto a bench, flat on his back. Bruce washed himself off quickly then got a hand-held shower head and a soft cloth and some of Tony's very expensive organic soap and spent a languid, unhurried eternity washing his beloved. 

Tony watched him move, like he was praying, like he was performing some incredibly delicate surgery. Being **cared for** like that was even more coring than allowing another human being to stick his hand inside him, and it was the final straw to a rather...fraught...sort of night. He shook a bit, suppressing the sobs that he really didn't want to shed because he was too damn tired and because Bruce might take it all wrong. 

Bruce was so absorbed in what he was doing that it did take a moment for him to notice, to feel the tremors under his fingers. He hooked the shower head back and came to gather Tony in his arms. "Oh, god, baby..."

"You didn't hurt me." 

"I know. I know. I...am just so fucking sorry that we have to do all of...this...just to make love. That I have to put you through all this." That it still might not be enough.

"Shut up. Every second, totally worth it. Worth everything." He reached up and cupped Bruce's face. "I was crying because you were...you were so damned gentle and sweet and I don't know what the hell to DO with that."

"Oh." Tony loved Bruce's 'trying to compute' face. It was possibly the most adorable thing about this adorable man.

"Yeah, oh. Let's get some rest. Big day tomorrow." 

"Right."

**

Clint and Natasha pulled up at the clearing, way, way off the beaten track in the Catskills. "Good choice," Natasha approved, climbing down from the driver's side of the SHIELD-badged, matte-black pickup truck. 

"Downright scenic. We could build a cabin here or something. You know, for romantic weekends away." Clint's booted feet hit the ground solidly, and there was a good heartbeat or two before they both laughed in unison. 

"I'll chop the trees down, you can do the interior decorating." Natasha prowled around the clearing and the really rather ugly reinforced cage plopped down right in the middle, close to the bank of the little stream winding through.

"Paula Bunyan. I like it. Does that make me your big blue ox?"

"When aren't you my big blue ox?" 

"Point taken. Although maybe not blue so often. Unless you're referring to the state of my testicles around you." He took the perimeter in the other direction, till they met by the stream. 

"You get off plenty," she judged.

Her and that damned ledger in her brain. "I kinda just meant that you're ridiculously beautiful and I am ridiculously horny for you pretty much constantly ." 

"I know what you meant." She crouched down by the stream and let her fingers play along the rill before looking up at him and flicking a few cold drops in his face, lips in a half-smile. 

"Augh, wench!" Clint laughed and tackled her and they rolled around like tiger cubs for a second before Tasha ended up on top, trapping his hips between her powerful thighs. "This is familiar somehow." 

"This would be how you woke up this morning." 

His hands framed her hips, fitting around the shapely curves like they were moulded to fit together. "How could I forget." 

"Actually..." Her eyes flickered over to the cage. "I'm thinking loft conversion." And then she rolled off as she heard Tony's SUV pulling up. That didn't mean that Clint wasn't still laughing by the time their friends got out of the car, looking like a couple of nervous virgins on their arranged wedding night.

"I hate missing a joke," Tony complained, taking Bruce's hand and leading them over to the other couple. 

"Be on time?" Natasha suggested.

Tony had the Iron Man suitcase in his other hand, and Bruce had a backpack over one shoulder. "No gear?" Clint asked, shaking his head. "You know...roughing it's one thing, but that is in fact a glass and steel cage completely lacking in even the most basic amenities."

Tony and Bruce exchanged looks, and Tony shrugged. "Apparently we weren't thinking about that part." 

Clint opened the gear box in the back of the truck and pulled out an inflatable sleeping mat, a couple of blankets, a few clean towels and several bottles of water. He was betting the one thing they DID remember beside the suit was lube. What he didn't let them see was the ordnance they had packed in that box (along with a cooler of beer because, well, it was gonna be a long night). 

"Thanks, guys." Bruce took the gear and made his sheepish way into the cage, expending some nervous energy on setting things up so that Tony might be a little more comfortable. 

Tony was happy to do the outside planning. "So where are you guys gonna be?" 

Clint and Natasha showed him the blind they'd picked out, big enough to stay concealed, close enough to see the cage and what was transpiring inside, and, if needed, help Tony get the fuck out. 

"Are you just...watching, then?" Tony, exhibitionist that he was, found himself hoping that the answer would be 'no.' This was just too big, too much, and yes, that was why they were there, but still. It all felt a bit humiliating and sad and he was upset more for Bruce than for himself.

Clint rolled his eyes. "Me? I'm sneaking a peek every few minutes. The briefest possible peek." 

Natasha turned her head to the side and regarded Tony steadily. "I will be watching. It's why I'm here. To protect you both." Unspoken but plain as day, 'you haven't got anything I haven't seen before.'

Now that Tony could respect. He nodded slowly. "Thank you. Both. I think you know what this means to us. And if you by some chance don't...it means everything. The whole world."

Clint's eyes fell and Natasha elbowed him in the side. "And don't let Mr. I'm a Straight Arrow over here fool you. Biggest size queen I ever met. He'll be watching." 

"I'll be watching." Clint sighed. Why even bother? This little team was set to break down everyone's barriers and walls and flush out all their dirty little secrets. Too many smart, nosey bastards with keen situational awareness skills to keep secrets.

Tony grinned from ear to ear, then leaned over and dared kiss Natasha on the cheek, moving slowly so she could stop it if she wanted. She tensed for a moment but allowed the brief brush of lips, and then he did the same to Clint, and it didn't even seem weird. "In that case, my friend, have I ever got a treat for you." 

When he turned and left them to settle in with their beer cooler and big fucking guns and Clint's bow and quiver and a blanket, he heard them bickering softly about how it wasn't strictly true that he was a size queen he was just a general, all-purpose slut and now Tony thought he was a snob, and and and. Natasha just smiled and slapped his ass hard, eliciting a muffled yelp as the door closed behind him.

Bruce was standing in the middle of the cage, practically vibrating. The makeshift pallet was laid out with the blanket, there were several tubes of lube to the side, a bottle of water, the suitcase close by the escape hatch. With all that accomplished, Bruce had nothing else to concentrate on except what was about to happen. "Are they...seriously watching us?"

Tony nodded and pulled his tee shirt up and over his head, catching Bruce's eyes and holding them. _Watch me._ "And it's completely okay, sweetheart. Trust me?" After all, he was trusting Bruce, that was the whole point. At Bruce's nod, Tony toed off his sneakers and then divested himself of his jeans, leaving himself naked in front of Bruce. 

"Jesus, Tony..." Bruce was drawn in like he was magnetized to the man, his hands curling around Tony's shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss, soft at first, then not so soft at all when Tony grabbed his hips and tugged them closer. "God, I love to look at you, taste you..." 

"Don't have to settle for looking and tasting anymore, baby. It's all yours. Only yours." Bruce's breath caught when Tony's hand found his hardening prick inside his worn jeans, squeezing and stroking through suddenly infuriating denim. "And fuck you are beautiful." 

Doubt fled right along with reason, and Bruce almost seemed surprised to find himself nearly ripping his buttons in his haste to rid himself of his shirt and pants. He even allowed it when Tony yanked his boxers off, and then groaned deep in his chest when Tony dropped down to his knees _Sex kneepads...sexy kneepads...look into that later..._ and laved his busy tongue over the heavy flesh of his lover's balls. By the time the man's infuriating mouth engulfed Bruce's cock he was fully hard, the head dark and slick. 

"Ah, fuck, Tony...Jesus, your mouth..." What had he been missing out on? Bruce's head fell back, but then he stared back down at Tony again, hand fisting in the short, spiky hair as he pumped his hips, experimentally at first and then with more abandon as he realized just how much his fiance could take.

Could love taking, in point of fact, if the way Tony's cock was dripping down onto the uncomfortable floor was any indication. Tony could feel the first stirrings of the change by the heaviness of the hand on his head and the way Bruce's cock expanded in his throat. When Tony pulled off and looked up at Bruce, he saw the same mid-transformation stage that he'd become so used to. 

This time, though, Bruce's pupils were blown with arousal, HIS arousal, because Tony was driving this runaway train tonight, not him. This was about HIM, and his hunger, and oh god had he ever ever wanted anything this much before? 

Tony felt like a penitent at Bruce's knees, like he would literally worship this magnificent man as if he were the god in some kind of cargo cult. He allowed Bruce to lift him up off the floor, then OFF off the floor till his feet were dangling and wrapped around the other man's waist. The kiss was artless devouring and Tony was shamelessly rubbing himself against the broad green-tinted chest and muscled belly. A big, gorgeous, and not even scary erection rubbed against his cleft.

"Nngh..." The head of Bruce's cock rubbed over something, embedded deep inside his lover's slick hole. It was a sound of arousal and frustration both. 

"Put me down on the mat, baby. On my back, hm?" Tony cupped Bruce's face, forced his focus long enough to get the desired result. Once on his back he splayed his legs wide as he could and lifted up his ass. "See? All ready for you, love." There was a sizeable black plug inside Tony's ass, and Bruce growled deep and loud enough to make Tony's chest rattle. 

Big, clumsy hands gripped the rubber and pulled it out, and Bruce watched the grasping emptiness of the hole left so abruptly bereft. Whatever part of Tony could still think grabbed a tube of lube and pretty much slathered the whole damn thing in his palm, sitting up and gripping Bruce's prick in two hands, rubbing in the slick and watching as the job got bigger and bigger, right along with his lover.

A huge hand pushed him down and then yanked him up by the legs, splaying him open as he could be while Bruce's snarls were muffled by his tongue shoving itself up Tony's ass. Apparently someone didn't much like that there was something ELSE in HIS mate's body and was determined to lick and suck every trace of it out.

Somewhere in that ferocious and feral and filthy rimming, Tony lost it completely, despite his best intentions of not coming till Bruce was fucking him. Okay, well, at this rate he'd be hard again in like two seconds, he could deal. 

He was still shaking off the orgasmic haze when an all-too-familiar howl split the air of the small space, and holy shit, well. _Hello, handsome._ On some level he was sure that his backup outside was prowling out from their blind, ready to come in and GET him if he was too fucking stupid to put on the suit if he was in real danger. 

But he wasn't going to get hurt. Because there was the moment of truth, and Tony reached down and grabbed Bruce's hair, yanking a Hulk up from between his thighs and looking him in the eyes. "Yours."

"MINE," he roared in response. 

"YES." Tony yanked and lunged and ended up kissing a mouth that was alien and familiar at once. It was so fucking erotic--under all the musk and beast he could taste Bruce, smell him, and oh CHRIST he was just fucking lost. 

Bruce was sitting on the mat, his rampant prick jutting up, and Tony got his feet on the floor for leverage, hands digging hard as they could in the rock hard shoulders. Bruce's gigantic hands dwarfed his waist and were pulling him down hard and fast, but Tony barked out a command. "STOP." 

...And the Hulk stopped, growling and roaring and generally bitching, but stopping. 

"In me. SLOW. Your mate. SLOW." Maybe it should have been ridiculous, talking to a giant green monster like this, but it wasn't a monster, it was Bruce, and he could see it now, all of it, so clearly. Bruce, the Hulk...would never harm his mate.

It felt like a goddamned tree trunk was pushing into him, slowly but inexorably, and Tony moaned from deep in his belly, pushing down to let his lover in. Oh god, in. Finally. In fact, it was almost TOO slow, so Tony squirmed in Bruce's grip, trying to get MORE. 

"NO. BAD." And now he was being scolded by a big green version of his lover. Okay.

"Please," he murmured. "Take me. Fuck me. You're in now. CLAIM ME."

Bruce growled and snapped his hips up. Oh holy fucking GOD, he was huge. Tony glanced down and saw how hard he was, how hard Bruce was, and god it was good. One huge hand cupped the back of his head, the other pulled him close to the massive chest as powerful hips found an immediate, instinctive rhythm.

Little things Tony had never even considered, even though all gods know he's been thinking of seldom else recently--how fucking huge his lover's balls would feel and how heavy they'd be slapping against his ass. The scent of musk and wild animal rutting as his lover found a home practically a forearm's length deep in his body. The unbelievable gentleness of hands the size of small boulders and the way the 'beast' practically fucking cuddled him against his chest. The scent of Hulk's sweat, earthy and sensual. His beloved was a goddamned treasure trove of wonders.

And he loved every single thing about him.

Bruce laid Tony out on the mat, bracing his legs wide around enormous biceps and finally rutting in earnest, content that his mate was not hurting, not bleeding, was howling and pounding at his chest with pleasure not pain. 

Finally, it was all just too much. The Hulk felt the tight, slick sheath around his cock spasm, and smelled Tony's seed as he came, a signal flipping in his head that it was TIME. Time to mate. The roar came close to splitting Tony's eardrums as Bruce buried himself balls-deep and let everything go. Not just decades of self-denial, but decades of self-loathing, of loneliness, of despair. He had a mate now, and he could HAVE. This was HIS. 

The orgasm went on for what seemed like forever, and when it passed, Bruce gathered him again in his arms like a doll, petting him, purring, even gently pulling out and looking to make sure everything was good. Other than drowning in Hulk come and the almost certainty of walking funny tomorrow, Tony was fine. In fact, Tony couldn't remember a time in his life when he had ever felt this perfectly, purely GOOD. Right. Exactly where he belonged. 

As the Hulk satisified himself that his mate was well, the calm stole over him, and in a few short minutes, it was Bruce holding Tony. "Oh god," he whispered hoarsely, enervated, exhausted. "You...are obviously unhurt, but.." He licked his dry lips. "Was it good for you?" 

"Good...oh Jesus, Bruce, c'mon. You know the answer to that. Look in that brilliant head and don't make him shut up for once." Softly.

"Oh...OH. Oh, it was very, very good." Bruce breathed out the words.

"It was beautiful. And hot as shit." Tony laughed and burrowed into Bruce's body, even as they slipped sideways onto the mat so Bruce could hold him tighter. Closer. "What do I get for not saying 'I told you so'?" 

"Orgasms. So shut up." 

"Shutting up." Tony smiled and let his eyes close. Clint and Natasha would leave now, now that everything was safe. He hoped Clint had had all the size he could handle, enough to fuel at least a month's worth of jack-off sessions.

**

Clint and Natasha didn't make it far--the back of the truck, pants tangled up around their ankles like teenagers, the whole affair lasting about a minute and leaving them both boneless and sated. "Fuck," Clint observed.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Natasha seconded, sitting up and finding her boot and getting her pants leg turned right side out again so she could get them back on. "You think Stark's figured it out yet?"

"I would say 'of course,' but I honestly doubt it." Clint laid there for another second before setting himself to rights as well, hopping out of the truck bed to gather up the supplies from their little bivouac. 

As they split a bottle of water and Tasha turned the truck in the clearing to head back out to the road several miles off, she murmured. "I hope he doesn't. I really do."

"He would understand. Eventually."

"That Fury decided to use him to tame the untameable? To make the Hulk a reliable weapon in the SHIELD arsenal? To give the beast a beauty to calm it down and make it biddable?" 

"Yeah, maybe not. But they love each other, and they'll be happy, Tasha." He reached out and cupped the back of her neck, stroking slowly with his thumb. "Really, honest-to-god happy. As nefarious Fury plans go, it was not very nefarious at all." 

"Really happy." She looked at him evenly. "Sounds like familiar logic."

"Am I the beauty in our version?" He batted his lashes at her.

"Absolutely, princess."


End file.
